


The Receptionist and The Courier

by bonn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:09:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonn/pseuds/bonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Potter does not particularly enjoy being a receptionist. He does not like talking on the phone, he is terrible at remembering to be polite, he is notoriously bad at stamping the date on incoming mail, and he is inexplicably awful at operating a laminator. </p><p>Lily Evans certainly had not expected to be working for the post office when she was doing her A-Levels, but here she is, two years down the track, cycling around town as though her life depends on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Receptionist and The Courier

**Author's Note:**

> insp by the cute courier who came into work the other day and flirted with me, a glorified receptionist  
> s/o to a_lrightevans and paddypads because i love them and they were both very helpful to me while writing this  
> title is a really dodgy knockoff of the prince and the pauper

James Potter does not particularly enjoy being a receptionist. He does not like talking on the phone, he is terrible at remembering to be polite, he is notoriously bad at stamping the date on incoming mail, and he is inexplicably awful at operating a laminator. The job was only given to him as a favour to his mum by the head of HR, and so far, he has hated every minute of it. 

Well, that’s a lie. There is one part of his job that James very much enjoys, a single slice of heaven to break up the exceptionally dull rest of the day. Every morning at ten fifteen sharp, the post is delivered to the front reception of Hills: Financial Advisor, and every morning at ten fifteen sharp, James smiles his only genuine smile of the day. 

*

Lily Evans certainly had not expected to be working for the post office when she was doing her A-Levels, but here she is, two years down the track, cycling around town as though her life depends on it. She neither adores nor abhors her job; there are high points and low points (the lowest of these being number 7 Eadon Crescent’s excessively aggressive Rottweiler). The highest point, however, is when she delivers the mail to Hills: Financial Advisor. 

This particular expedition has not always been a high point for Lily. When she had first begun her route, the Hills’ receptionist had been a frumpy middle-aged woman who didn’t even look up when Lily came through the door. But, by some godsend, about three months ago, she was replaced by possibly the most gorgeous man Lily has ever laid eyes upon. Lily _lives_ for the few minutes a day when they exchange pleasantries and she can bask in his glorious smile. 

Once, she had not stopped her iPod properly when she entered the building, and he had complimented her on her music taste before recommending another band. His recommendation proved to be fantastic, and she has had an enormous soft spot for him ever since.

*

Once, when he was reaching to take the post from her, James’ hand had brushed hers, and he had been so shocked by how lovely it had felt that he promptly dropped the bundle of letters onto the floor. The courier had laughed pleasantly, and James has since been in half a mind to drop more mail just to hear her laugh again. 

She doesn’t wear a name badge, so he has no idea what her name is. The bag she brings the mail in with has EVANS written on the side in block writing, and he supposes that might be her surname, though somehow the writing doesn’t look like it belongs to her. But, in lieu of more concrete evidence, Evans will have to do.

*

The receptionist doesn’t have a name badge either, but Lily has deduced that his name is James, because several times when she’s walked in, he’s been on the phone and introduced himself to the person on the other end as _James at Hills: Financial Advisor_. She never thought about it before she met him, but she thinks that James might just be one of her favourite names.

She kicks up her bicycle stand and checks her watch; ten-oh-two. She has thirteen minutes to ride across town and deliver the contents of her satchel to Hills: Financial Advisor. Plenty of time.

*

James checks the clock in the corner of his computer screen; ten-oh-two. He has thirteen minutes to make a cup of tea. Plenty of time. 

Evans is looking rather harassed when she enters the reception area, lugging her bag behind her. James finds himself disappointed as he blows gently on his tea. He thinks he might be in love with her smile. 

“Rough day?” James asks, standing up to intercept the letters before she can put them in the intray. 

“That’s a gross oversimplification, but yes. Rough day,” she agrees. 

“Anything I can help with?”

“Not unless you’ve kept every single delivery receipt I’ve ever given you.” She hands over the bundle of letters, but James lets them slip between his fingers and land on his desk with a thud. He frowns at her before leaning down to open his bottom drawer.

“Are these what you’re talking about?” he asks, pulling out a pile of green tinted papers. 

“I...” Evans stops short, halfway through digging around in her bag. “Can I ask you a huge favour?” Her hands emerge, holding a square parcel about the size of her head. 

“I think that depends on the favour,” James says slowly, reaching for the box. For a minute they both hold it – James is too distracted by the sight of Evans chewing her lip thoughtfully to take it properly. Her eyes have not left James’ face in over two minutes, and James is probably a bit too pleased about this, considering the fact that there’s no distinct emotion to her gaze. 

“I usually finish my route at half past two,” she tells him. “Can I come back here after that and go through all of these with you? It’s just that this whole time I should’ve been getting you to sign for anything worth more than £50 and I didn’t realise.” She finally looks away, her cheeks heating with what James assumes to be embarrassment. 

*

Lily is not embarrassed about the mixup – at least, not embarrassed enough to be blushing. No, the blush is result of her thinking something vaguely inappropriate about James’ beautiful full lips. 

“Yeah, no worries,” he tells her, finally taking the box. “I’ll get Helen to cover the front desk and I’ll take you into the utilities room.”

“It shouldn’t take more than half an hour,” she promises him, withdrawing a clipboard from her satchel. “Sign here.” He does so with a flourish, and she can’t help but appreciate his penmanship.

“Private school,” he explains with a grin. “Until after half two, then.”

“Yeah.” Lily smiles and takes her pen back, pocketing it carefully, and raising a hand in farewell. “Until after half two.”

*

Waiting for two thirty to come around might just kill James, he thinks. All day he’s been putting letters in envelopes for Deb upstairs, and he’s so bored he’s started naming the fruit flies buzzing around the bunch of daffodils Kath in marketing left on his desk to “brighten up the room”. He’s up to his twelfth cup of tea, and it’s only just gone a quarter to two. He’s drinking them at such a ridiculous rate that he’ll be out of teabags by next Tuesday, and he’s already spent the company’s tea allowance for this month.

“Hey, Helen,” he calls, swivelling around to look into the office across the hall. 

“Yes?” she says, not looking up from her furious typing. 

“I have to go upstairs and help Deb with data entry at half past two, can you catch the phones?” A thumbs up in his general direction serves as Helen’s response. 

By two forty-five, James is starting to panic. He has finished his thirteenth cup of tea, but Evans might show up at any minute, so he can’t risk going to make another. 

“Sorry,” she says breathlessly as she half-jogs across the foyer at two fifty-one. “My last stop was the bank and I had to go via the office to print off my delivery list for here. Shall we?” James nods mutely – there’s something about the light sheen of sweat on her face that makes her even more beautiful than he’s ever considered her before.

“Helen, I’m going now,” he calls, not waiting to see if she responds. 

*

Lily has entered this building every Monday through Friday for the last five and a half months, but this is the first time she has gone further than the reception desk, and it’s posher than she could ever have imagined. The burgundy carpet is spotless and the furnishings are so stylish she almost forgets that she’s still in the same shitty town she’s always lived in. James is completely unaffected by the grandeur, and Lily suspects this to be a combination of overexposure and the country manor air he has about him. Lily knows he’s posh – his accent betrays him there, but he’s the sort of posh that doesn’t really lend itself to the idea of working for a financial advisor. He’s the sort of posh that doesn’t lend itself to the idea of any line of work, really. 

The utilities room should be its own stationary store, in Lily’s opinion. It’s twice as big as her bedroom and every wall (there’s six, she counted) is covered with shelves. Each of these is full to bursting with everything from masking tape to felt tip pens to spare monitors to a riding saddle. 

“No one comes in here except me,” James tells her. There’s a row of cabinets in the middle of the room that double as a desk, and he leads her to it. “If someone needs more pens or something they email me and ask me to bring it to them. I think they all think I go out to the shops every time they want stationary. Ridiculous, right?”

Lily shrugs. “I wouldn’t want to share a place like this.”

“I like the way you think.” He places the bundle of delivery receipts on the bench and flicks a switch on what looks to Lily to be a lamp. “Tea?” he asks, pulling a mug from top shelf of the cabinet directly in front of him. 

“Please.”

“You can pick any cup you like, except this one,” he says, championing a tall, skinny mug decorated with an assortment of cats. “Cat directory is mine.” Upon closer inspection, Lily discovers that the mug really is a functional cat directory - each picture is captioned with the correlating breed in both English and French. 

Lily selects a mug with a delightfully unflattering picture of the Queen printed on it, turning to James for approval. 

“Excellent choice,” James commends. “I have rather a large assemblage of teas for you to select from.” Another cabinet is opened, and Lily is overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of colourful boxes. 

“Just English Breakfast,” she tells him, and he nods wisely. He himself chooses an aromatic chai. The lamp turns out to be a novelty kettle, which amuses Lily to no end. James pours the water carefully, and sets the kettle aside, before folding his arms and fixing her with a look that she can’t quite decipher. 

“This is embarrassing,” he begins, finally, “but I don’t actually know your name.”

“Oh,” she says, and laughs. “It’s Lily. Lily Evans.”

“Your name _is_ Evans, then,” he says, more to himself than to her. “The writing on your bag just doesn’t look like it belongs to you.” Lily sobers at this comment, and James is immediately aware that he’s inadvertently said something to upset her. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“No, it’s okay. This was my dad’s bag.” 

“How strong do you like your tea?” he asks, and Lily is grateful that he changes the subject so easily. 

“Very.”

James puts his hand on his chest. “A woman after my own heart.” Lily can’t help but grin. James really is outstandingly attractive. “How did this come about, then? How did you fail to get me to sign for parcels for three months?”

“Your first day, I delivered this package that was an exception, and the docket said ‘item of value greater than £50 - signature not required’ and I guess I just assumed that that applied until I was told otherwise. I assumed wrong.”

“Is it really that big of a deal? I mean, I know you delivered everything, you know you delivered everything. What’s the problem?”

“I’m being reviewed,” Lily explains. “Hopefully I’ll be taken off probation and put on as a permanent, but I need to show all this evidence.”

James grins, pulling a black biro from a vase of pens sitting next to the kettle. “Good thing I’m a hoarder, then.”

*

Going through every single delivery receipt from the last five months is a tedious but remarkably enjoyable task. Lily is a fantastic conversation partner, and she’s interested in the things James wants to talk about. They like a lot of the same music, James is pleased to learn. Lily gets the same kick out of accidentally discovering that James is a raging feminist.

“You know the swingset down by the pond on the other side of town?” Lily asks, and James nods. “My sister and I used to take turns to see who could throw the biggest rock the furthest. We almost killed a duck, once.”

James snorts and immediately looks mortified. “I possibly shouldn’t laugh about that. You grew up here, then?” he asks.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes and no,” he says, leaning forward and placing his forearms on the bench. “We have one of the manors on the other side of the hills, but I went to boarding school so I never spent that much time there until now.”

“What about when you were a little kid?” Lily asks, flipping through about a fortnight’s worth of deliveries.

“My dad was really busy when I was small, so my mother and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents in India. It’s been a while since I’ve been, actually. I dread to think what’s become of my Hindi.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, somehow making it more unruly than before.

“Have you tried brushing that?” Lily asks, biting her lip to try to supress the smile that’s forming. 

“Doesn’t seem to help.” He pauses to sign another receipt. “Drove administration at my school crazy. One year they tried to Photoshop it tidier in our class picture. Dad went off his nut, wrote a very strongly worded letter to the school board on the topic of ethnic discrimination.”

“Really?”

“It was a pretty badly done edit.” For a moment it looks like he might be able to hold the sincerity, but Lily’s look of amazement is just too much. 

“Shut up,” she says, her ears turning pink. “How come you work here? I mean, I’m not trying to offend you or anything, you’re just…”

“Not your typical receptionist?” Lily nods, and points to the signature line on the top docket. “It was one of the conditions of my mum letting me live at home this year. I did first year of Engineering straight after sixth form, and I got alright marks, but I just wasn’t feeling it so I stopped. Mum thought I was too listless so she pulled some strings and got me this. Lackadaisical, she called me. Laodicean was another. Lazy, aimless, blasé; she used them all.”

“Lackadaisical? _Laodicean_?” Lily snorts. “My god you are _so posh_.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he says, signing another receipt. “Got a trust fund the size of Majorca, too. What about you, then? Uni not for you?”

Lily shrugs uncomfortably, and reaches for her tea. It’s stone cold now, so she just wraps her hand around the mug and resolutely avoids James’ eye. “I was meant to be going down to Brighton, to do journalism, but…” She trails off, focusing all her energy into crossing off a single item on her clipboard. James is patient, though, and his smile is encouraging. “Had a bit of a family crisis during my final exams and my sister ran off to London, and I couldn’t leave Mum here alone. Sign.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” James says quietly.

“I think this is the last one.” It’s almost a whisper. “Thank you for doing this.”

“No thanks necessary,” James insists, signing his ridiculous signature without looking at the receipt. “I wasn’t going to let you get fired for making a mistake that I can guarantee I definitely also would have made.” 

Lily watches him with a sort of adoring wonder as he collects up all the newly signed papers and taps a few buttons on the photocopier. There’s 57 sheets in total, and she can’t help but act on the surge of gratitude she feels. “Please let me make this up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” James says over the hum of the machine. “I didn’t not let you lose your job so you’d owe me.”

“I know.” She looks up at him, suddenly determined. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you lunch. Are you free on Sunday?”

“Like a date?” James asks. His face is somewhere between panicked and delighted, and it’s incredibly endearing.

“Yes, James, like a date.” It’s the first time she’s said his name, and James’ stomach does flips. 

“I’d like that.” He hands Lily the copies, and she glances at her watch.

“Shit,” she swears softly, “I have to be back at the office by half four.” Selecting a pen from the vase, she scribbles her number on the top of a stack of post-its by the kettle. “Text me, yeah?” She kisses his cheek so fast that he can’t be sure she even actually did it, and then they’re back at reception, and she’s collecting her satchel.

“Have a good weekend!” Lily calls as she pushes the front door open with one hand and reaches for her helmet with the other.

James grins and raises a hand in farewell, loving the practiced air about her motions. “You too.”


End file.
